A Dip Into The Past
by VanillaFudges
Summary: What was Hermione like when she was younger? Did she know what fate had in store for her? Come, my friends, come with me and take a dip into the past of a young girl who needed to feel like she belonged.


Disclaimer: I'm looking forward to Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince just as much as you guys. I've been wondering... as you know, Harry had Hagrid to convince him that he was indeed, a wizard. But what about Hermione? She didn't have anyone to tell her that it wasn't a lie- she had to rely on her own instinct, and this is something that is greatly intriguing me.

**A Dip Into The Past**

"Mummy?"

"Yes dear?"

"What's a witch?"

Not any five-year-old girl would ask that sort of question. No, a normal girl would immediately think of an evil looking hag, possibly with a green face and blank red eyes.

However, Hermione Granger wasn't a normal five-year-old. Being a rather inquisitive little girl, Hermione found reason to question anything and everything.

"Why is the sky blue?"

"Mummy, why is magic not real?"

And even the dreaded- "Mummy, Daddy? How was I made?"

These things can: -

Really annoy a parent and result in the said child to think that 'Children should be seen and not heard'

_Or...  
_  
Convince the parents that they have a child prodigy in their hands and throw lavish parties every minute to thank the lord that they have been blessed.

Of course, Hermione seemed to grow out of the 'Ask embarrassing/impossible questions' phase before any damage could be made, and started to concentrate on the real world (namely, school). Mr and Mrs Granger always knew their child was gifted, but were still suitably shocked when she began reading Jane Eyre at the age of seven, memorise all the Monarchs of England when she was eight and have a reading age of 15 when she's nine.

Of course, even with all this information in her brain, Hermione still couldn't comprehend why people thought her weird.

Yes, Hermione, despite being the happy, brown haired child she was, found herself wandering the playground alone and would watch other children play 'hopscotch' and 'piggy in the middle'.

Not unexpectedly, Hermione made herself some imaginary friends. Not having any actual friends (and her naive age) had had its effect on her, and the line between girls and boys had blurred. Her imaginary friends took on the form of two boys-

Ron and Harry.

Hermione did _everything _with Ron and Harry, when Hermione won the school raffle; it was Ron and Harry that helped choose her prize. When Hermione bought chocolate, she bought Ron and Harry some too. And, naturally, when Hermione got in to trouble, it was Ron and Harry that made her do it.

Hermione even drew pictures of her friends- an orange haired Ron and a glasses wearing Harry. Even more disturbingly, Hermione would announce every so often that she and Ron would get married when they were older, and have "Lots of little children, who will all love my cat."

Her parents merely dismissed this as 'little 'mione being cute again'. Hermione's ninth birthday was shared with Ron and Harry as well, insisting on her parents keeping slices of cakes for her friends.

When she was around ten, her 'friends' merely seemed to fade away. This was also around the time she started to have 'accidents'.

My friends, let us take a step back into time to one of these occasions, one that still hovers in the back of her mind.

_Hermione's tenth birthday._

Hermione looked into the mirror and nervously adjusted her pale yellow sundress. It was her birthday today, and her mother had forced Hermione to give everyone in her class an invitation to a party- one in which ice cream and jelly was promised.

_'Will anyone come?'_ was the thought that burned in her mind. Hermione was fairly certain that most of the boys won't deign to come to her party, but _'Perhaps the girls will come!'_ With high hopes, Hermione set off to the local swimming pool, and perched herself on a plastic chair, waiting for her classmates to arrive.

The 'party' did not go well, to say the least. Little Hermione Granger waiting with her mother outside the rented room for over an hour, her mothers happy face falling a bit every five minutes. Not one child came to wish her a happy birthday, nor one parent called to pass on their regrets.

Tears began to roll down her cheeks as her mother swept her into a tight hug.

"Don't you worry, cupcake. I'll call Daddy and we'll call all our family and we'll have our own little party just by ourselves." And they did just that. In no time at all, sympathetic uncles and aunties had brought all their children and they spent a great deal of two hours bopping along to songs and playing 'Pass the Parcel'. Hermione had then gone out in search of the ladies room, when she passed the swimming pool.

Pausing outside the glass door, she had then gone inside the empty room and playfully dipped her hand in the blue water, creating soft ripples that spread out, one after the other.

Upon hearing her mother call for her, Hermione had panicked and stood up too quickly. She slipped and fell into the pool- and she did not know how to swim. Thrashing wildly to try to keep her head above the water, she tried frantically to grab the edge, which was just beyond her reach. Her feet kicked frantically to uncover solid ground to no avail.

_'I don't want to die! Not now! Not yet!'_

"M-m-mu-!" Her mother couldn't hear her daughter's pleas, her back was turned to the door and she was still hollering for her.

_'No, please, no!'_

Once again, Hermione renewed her quest to plant her feet onto the ground and was extremely surprised to find that, indeed. Her feet could safely touch the ground. Looking around her, she gasped in shock as the water began to steadily drain away, seemingly to nowhere.

Only when water had completely gone, did Hermione call her mother again.

"Mum!" Her mother turned around and came face to face with an extremely wet and upset Hermione, standing in the dry and empty swimming pool.

So you see, this was only the first incident in many, and Hermione had dismissed these things as 'accidents' or coincidences.

Another time, when her mother had decided that Hermione's school uniform needed to be patched up a little, her mother had managed to practically butcher the corn blue outfit, leaving an unsightly patch that was rather noticeable. With complete horror and dread, Hermione had shoved the summer dress into the back of the cupboard, opting to wait until tomorrow to clamour for the day off.

The next day, she had taken a peek at the dress, and was completely stunned to find it back to what it had been before.

Hermione had reached the tender age of eleven, and it was the summer holidays. At least here, she would no longer be pushed around in class and have snide and hurtful comments hissed in her ear at playtime. "Freak!"

"Weirdo!"

"Bush girl! Go crawl back to your hole!"

Hermione raced upstairs to her room, clutching a package in her arms. Ripping the paper from the box, she smiled warmly as she gazed at the hard backed book within.

Almost reverently, Hermione picked up Twelfth Night and opened it to the first page. No sooner had she got to the line:

_"If music be the food the love, play on."_

Did a voice shake her from the world of Shakespeare.

"Hermione, honey, there's a letter for you." Walking downstairs, she picked the cream coloured envelope up from the corner table and frowned. The paper was obviously expensive and the writing old fashioned and written in a bright green. The swirly font did indeed proclaim her name, but who would send her letters if not the book club? She opened it and scanned the letter, gasping as she did so.

_'Miss Hermione Granger, _

You have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'

Eyes wide open, Hermione leaned against the wall and her lips formed the words that she read. She spun around and walked shakily to the kitchen, where her mother was busy washing the dishes.

"Who sent you the letter?" Hermione couldn't answer and mutely held the letter out to her.

Would she believe it? Was it just someone playing a really nasty joke on her? What did it all mean?

_Later..._

If the wastepaper bin could talk, I'm sure it would be screaming at the young Miss Granger.

Hermione had had spent much of the last few hours fretfully throwing the woebegone parchment piece into the bin, before diving into it to retrieve the sheet, reverently smoothing out the creases and crumples of the emerald script. Indeed, if many things that we take for granted are inanimate objects could speak, the ground on which Hermione paced would be grumbling, the bed groaning whenever she flung herself on it in disbelief and the door growling out its protest whenever she threw it open to hug her mother.

Her mother hadn't taken to the news, that her 'darling little 'mione' was a witch, very well. It had been with wavering hands that Mrs Granger read the innocent letter and with a quavering voice that she asked Hermione to make her a 'good, strong black coffee- and _damn_ the consequences of teeth staining'. A small part of Hermiones shocked brain noted that it was surprising her health conscious parents even had coffee in the house, but she got her the drink anyway.

Once the sudden shock had passed, doubt and suspicion settled on the Grangers like dust on an old and dirty shelf.

It _can't_ be true, magic _doesn't _exist, therefore it was just a hoax, so it _couldn't_ be true at all... and on it went, until they had ran out of excuses and reasons for it not being true. It remained the fact that... if it was a hoax, a prank, a joke... it was a very well planned out and clever one. Certainly it was nothing that a child of Hermione could do, being that it was so well written and eloquent- complete with a book listing for goodness sake- though, Hermione must admit to being intrigued when she saw that particular bit. Then again, an adult would not lower themselves to pull a stunt like this on a child, no matter how bored or amusing it would be, so what other reasoning was there but to think that there was a small, tiny, miniscule chance that it might be true?

Well, one could only hope.

As it was, Hermione had been alternating between going downstairs to converse about this with her mother, and coming back up to shake her head in disbelief. She still couldn't believe that she was, or at least the letter told her she was, a witch. A witch, I tell you! Nonsense! Witches belonged in mythology and legends, in fairy tales and folklore- they did not exists in real life. Yet secretly in a little corner of her mind, Hermione hoped that it was real. A place where'd she actually fit in... that'd be nice.

Unfurling a corner of the (by now) worn parchment, she smiled slightly and curled up on her bed, so many questions in her mind, but no-one able to answer them for her.

Outside, a small barn owl hooted softly, and took off, white-brown wings cast across the sky. A single white feather floated gently downwards in a spiral, until it perched gently on the doorstep of the Granger residence.

_End_


End file.
